


Set the Sun on Fire

by BadgerBlood4Life



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013)
Genre: Adam needs a job, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Graphic Language, Harlan doesn't approve, I'm Sorry, M/M, Misogyny, Mob Front, Murder, Neither does Beth, Nigel is a softie, a mob front is perfect, duh - Freeform, nigel is a tag all his own, some very rude words about women, the mob loves Adam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-22 02:26:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17654279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadgerBlood4Life/pseuds/BadgerBlood4Life
Summary: Canon divergence and timeline screwups!When Adam loses his job, he needs to find a replacement and fast. Losing his home is not an option. But due to his Asperger's, the simple interaction of making a phone call, let alone an entire interview, is nerve-wracking and almost impossible.Luckily for him, the Italian restaurant down the road is in need of a new Hostess/waitress, no experience required."Why is a staff of entirely Romanian descent, who have no idea on how to prepare anything but Romanian fare, running an Italian restaurant?""Why so many questions, Gorgeous?"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I screwed with the timelines and canon. This is fanfiction, I do what I want.  
> Also, I tried to embed the text from the Romanian (also, that's google translate, so I'm sorry if it's super wrong), but I'm not sure it worked.  
> 1.) Piece of shit  
> 2.) Whore  
> 3.) Yes

The clock quietly ticked away, also chipping at Adams nerves.

Harlan was looking him in the eye, and it was making him very uncomfortable.

“You know I don’t do well with eye contact, Harlan.” Adam said softly, darting his head down to look at his clasped hands.

The elder sighed, a noise that conveyed many different emotions and tones. Or so Adam had been told.

“Adam, I need to know that you understand me. Are you listening?”

Adam nodded once, quickly glancing up to look at his father’s best friend, then back down again.

  Adam had been let go earlier that day, though he didn’t really understand why. Mr. Wardlow didn’t seem to want the best product on the market with his microchips. He wanted a subpar product at a cheaper price, which baffled the young man.

After returning home to his apartment, he called Harlan, needing help in venting his frustration and lack of understanding. The older man quickly arrived, _uninvited_ , to his home, and was stating things that he was not prepared to deal with.

  “Adam, you can’t afford this apartment by yourself without your job. You have enough to live off of for a few months, but that’s it. You need to find a well-paying job, and quickly.”

This was the root of his dilemma at the moment.

“But dad helped me with my interview with Mr. Wardlow. He ran scenarios with me and helped me with my outfit, and with the interview itself. He’s not here now!” Adam said, finally looking up to meet Harlan’s eyes.

  The man’s dark brown eyes held some sort of emotion that Adam couldn’t place, and he knew from experience that it wasn’t the same dread of the unknown and fear of losing his home.

“I know, kid. I know he’s not.”

His father had passed away quite abruptly last month, throwing his whole schedule off for that day.

Of course, he missed his father and had felt the anguish of his passing, but most couldn’t seem to tell the difference since he had been his normal self at the funeral. The breakdown was reserved for later, when there wasn’t a chance of the invasive police incident that had happened previously with Beth.

“What will I do, Harlan?” came his quiet reply.

  Rough hands came to his shoulders, resting in a manner that comforted the young man temporarily.

“We’ll get something going, don’t you worry, Kid.”

* * *

 

Just a few blocks down the road, a dingy little gray Italian restaurant sat in a dingy little shopping center that held a nail salon, a computer repair shop, dry cleaners, and three other empty storefronts.

The neon green sign on the old red awning boldly stated the words “ _Angelo’s- Worlds Greatest Musaca!_ ”

Inside this nondescript little restaurant, a blond woman with breasts the size of cantaloupes was being dragged by her hair from the dining room, and into the walk-in freezer.

“ **NO!** PLEASE! I’M SORRY! GOD, PLEASE STOP! I WON’T TELL ANYONE, **I PROMISE**!”

  The shrieking sobs of the woman pierced the ears of the group of men sat in the back of the dining room, the two cooks in the back alley on their smoke break, _and_ the man currently dragging her.

“God! Shut the fuck up, you idiot! You’re giving me a fucking headache.”

“PLEASE NIGEL! I PROMISE I WON’T TELL _**NO ONE**_!”

She let out a loud noise of pain and discontent as he shoved her into the freezer forcibly, and slammed the door behind them.

  “You’re fucking right you won’t tell anyone, cunt! You had a fucking wire on you this whole time, and for who?! Petrov?! That  _bucata de_ _rahat_  Russian can keep you on his roll after we send your fucking head back! Is fifty an hour, forty a week, medical, vision, dental **and** tips from lonely old horndogs, not enough? Need another implant, you fake _curvă_?! No one betrays us, not even a pretty cunt,  _da_?”

  As quick as a cobra, Nigel whipped out his gun, attached the silencer and shot the sobbing woman in the forehead.

Blood and gray matter painted the wall of the freezer, thankfully away from the stored shelves of various foods. The body of the now dead woman slumped down the wall, leaving a gory red trail that led down to her corpse.

The silence that followed the shot was all-encompassing, only broken by the sounds of the freezer running to keep the temperature at 28 degrees Fahrenheit.

Dismantling the silencer from his beloved pistol, Nigel pushed his hair back with the gun still in his hand.

“Fuck! Now who is going to watch the front?!”


	2. Introductions and Lunch-breaks

 

The young man with chocolate colored hair miserably brought his sleeve up, wiping the fat drops of tears that fell from his blue eyes as he made his way down the street. He cut through a shopping center that had few storefronts. 

The place of business he just left was his fifth interview of the day and his fifth failure. 

He wore his best suit like Dad had told him to when he interviewed for Mr. Wardlow, he showered, brushed his teeth AND used a very uncomfortable rose scented facemask, as per Beth’s suggestion. He began to pace up and down the dilapidated storefront of an Italian restaurant. 

    “What am I going to do?! Oh, It’s been weeks, and still nothing! I keep messing up, saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing, being the wrong thing! Stupid, stupid, STUPID, STUPID STUP-” 

A calloused hand grabbed his, which he had been using to hit himself in the head repeatedly as he gradually got louder. 

“Whoa there, Gorgeous! What’s got a pretty face like you so upset?”

    Adam looked up in astonishment, the scent of tobacco filled his nostrils, and he grimaced. 

The man in front of him was wearing a bowling shirt with little brown dachshunds on it, a pair of fitted khakis and dark brown leather loafers. He had a lit cigarette in between his lips, and was devastatingly handsome. 

“My name is not Gorgeous, It’s Adam. Adam Raki.”

The man’s thin lips quirked into a small smirk, head tilting slightly. 

“Well Mr. Raki, what seems to be the problem? You seem awful agitated.”

“It is polite to give one’s name when introducing yourself,”  Adam said, instead of answering the strange man.

“Also, could you let go of my hand? I find physical contact to be irritating.” 

    The man's smirk grew, and he let go of Adam’s hand. He lowered himself into a small bow, arms out, palms up.

“Forgive me, oh great sir! I am but a lowly restaurant owner by the name of Nigel Vizla. The very restaurant you were having a fit in front of, to be exact.” 

Adam followed the man’s hand as it pointed to the neon sign attached the faded red awning. 

_ Angelos: World Famous Musaca! _

     A small Italian flag was in the corner of the wooden door, followed by the red, yellow and red of the Romanian flag. 

“Musaca is a traditional Greek dish, though the name and flag suggest Italian to be the theme of the restaurant.”

Nigel frowned suddenly, getting up from his bow.

“It is also a Romanian dish, gorgeous. Now, what’s got you so upset?”

He took a drag from his cigarette, igniting the tip once more with his breath.

Adam had forgotten for a whole minute about his worries, but it was back at almost full force now. 

     “I was fired from my job at the toy company I worked for last month. I’ve been on 17 interviews so far, and I have been turned down at each one. The unofficial rules of interviews I looked up on google, stated that the employer will take between two to three business days to contact the interviewee on whether they are to be offered the job or not. But none of them waited, they told me at the end of the interview that I am not what they were looking for! Mr. Wardlow even gave me a very good reference!”

* * *

Nigel had been eating in the back, the mess that bitch left long since cleaned. He was almost done when one of the cooks had run into the kitchen, eyes slightly wide.

“Boss! There’s some crazy outside, pacing back an’ forth in front of the door!”

Nigel rolled his eyes and sighed. Ever since he killed that _şarpe_ he’d been the go to for every little movement outside the front fucking door. (snake)

    “Fuck! I can’t even get a fucking lunch break,  _ nu _ ?!” (no)

He threw his fork down, took a swig of his coffee, and stormed out into the dining room.

Darko was conducting the bi-weekly meeting between them and the crew. 

“What, you couldn’t get your fat ass up, _ bastard _ ?” Nigel barked, bangs falling into his eyes.

“Busy.”

“ _ Căţea. _ ” (bitch)

“ _ Pizdă. _ ”  (cunt)

    He made his way out of the front door, just in time to see a gorgeous man calling himself stupid and smacking the side of his head with his hand loudly. 

He grabbed the offending hand, stopping that lovely boy from hurting himself even more.

The ensuing conversation brought some insight to the Romanian.

Gorgeous was obviously not all normal in the head, and talking to people seemed to be a problem for him. 

Seventeen Interviews was a lot, especially within a few weeks. 

He also had a very good memory and seemed to tell the truth very bluntly. 

     He was perfect. Beatuiful, smart and truthful; perhaps God hadn’t abandoned him just yet. 

“ Well, I think you are in luck, Gorgeous. I just happen to need a host and waiter for my restaurant, and you need a job. It’s fate, _înger._ ” (angel)

That seemed to stop him in his tracks, blue eyes looking up at him with direct eye contact. 

“But...But I don’t have any experience as a waiter or a host? I also cannot afford my apartment with a server’s wages, I checked.” 

Nigel stopped himself from smiling. Of course, the little  _ înger  _ would worry about not having any experience. 

“ _ Nu splendid,  _ no experience nessecary. Come, let me tell you all about it, hmn?” (no gorgeous)

“It still wouldn’t be enough to pay for my mortgage, let alone groceries or and insurance. I need those three things to survive comfortably, at least according to Harlan.”

Harlan? A boyfriend? Well, he’d just have to arrange a little accident for this Harlan. 

     “This Harlan sounds smart, Gorgeous.”

Adam’s eye narrowed.

“My name is Adam, I thought we went over this. You have ignored the use of my name for the last few minutes.....and yes, he is relatively smart.”

“Adam, love, I only tell the truth. I call you what you are, Gorgeous.”

A pink blush suddenly bloomed across one cheek, over the bridge of his nose, and to the other cheek.

“Oh.”

“Now come, let us talk. I think you will be very excited to learn about this position. Very lucrative, easy to do. Are you hungry?”

     Nigel took Adam’s coffee brown leather briefcase from the ground, and clasped his hand over the younger man’s shoulders, leading him inside. 

“Yes, very. I am approximately fifteen minutes past my lunchtime, which is unacceptable. Do you have mac N cheese?”

Mac N cheese? That useless American crap? 

“Are you sure I can’t interest you in some Soup and bread? Fish? Steak?”

Adam wrinkled his nose cutely at Nigel, shaking his head vehemently. 

“I always eat mac N cheese, broccoli, and grilled chicken. It’s my favorite meal.”

Nigel smiled, opening the door to his little corner of the world. 

“Anything for you, Angel! We’ll make it work.”

* * *

Nigel's voice traveled, bringing the attention of his and Nigel's crew to him and the person by his side. 

Darko took one look at Nigel with his arm wrapped around the shoulder of a young man with pouty lips, glittering eyes, curly hair and tear tracks down his cheeks. 

“ Fir-ar sa fie! Not again!” (God Dammit)


End file.
